All characters and names are completely fictional.
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It was a nice upscale neighborhood I drove to for an interview as a personal secretary at someone's home. In hindsight I had planned very poorly; I'd ended up staying at my boyfriend's apartment all night and I guess I slept through the alarm. When I finally woke, I realized I'd forgotten to bring a business outfit and it was far too late to go home and get one.
All I had were the threadbare, skin-tight daisy dukes and the too-tight tube top I'd worn to my boyfriend's place. Zack had insisted I wear them - with no underclothes or bra naturally, and he sweet talked me about how well the outfit showed off my sweet body and went nicely with the deep baked look I had gotten from many hours in the tanning salon. Being the submissive type, I finally gave in and did exactly as he asked. And like I said, I overslept and so that's all I had to wear if I wanted to go to the interview.
He actually got off on the idea. "Look, my stuck up British bitch, you might not get in their door looking like that, but you're gonna go and try anyway. You're gonna go to that job interview looking like a hooker."
"What? Oh, no. No way." I just couldn't.
"They're expecting you, right? Do it. If you can just get in the door I think you can you can knock their socks off with your personality and intelligence and especially that accent. When the time is right, apologize for your appearance. Tell them you're a stripper who had to work all night or something. They don't have to know you overslept."
I couldn't. No, no, no and again no. This wasn't how I normally dressed AT ALL, and I sure as hell wasn't going to approach strangers looking like THIS!
"I don't even know if I want the job! I just haven't found anything in marketing yet since graduation. You know that."
Zack saw my skeptical look. He brushed his hand over my long blond ponytail, then grabbed hold and pulled, hard, yanking my face up to his. "Do it. You're really an exhibitionist at heart, we both know it. Admit it and go to the interview and show off your fuckable body."
"In fact, I want you to wear those red heart-shaped sunglasses you wear on the beach, too. And when they open the door, you'll have gum in your mouth and blow a bubble and pop it right in front of their faces."
"This is ridiculous!", I protested, struggling against him.
His hand stroked my breasts. "But you'll do it. Won't you." He yanked my hair again. Something snapped that ignite my sexual desires. I gave in. My blue eyes bore into his.
"....Oh, all right. But they'll just slam the door in my face. And when I come back, I'm going to slap the shit out of you and burn these clothes and never dress like a whore ever again."
"Yea, we'll see about that."
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I had no idea who might answer the door of course, but in the weird sexual fog I was now in, I had to admit the idea of going to a job interview dressed like a slut really was a turn-on. Not that I would ever admit it to Zack. I was nervous and horny at the same time. My nipples were rock hard and clearly visible through the halter as I drove. I nearly chickened out three times, but eventually I arrived at the address, a large home in a gated community. I put on the sunglasses and stuffed some gum in my mouth, then nervously went to the door and rang the bell.
When no one answered, I figured it was already all over, but just as I turned to leave a tall, extremely attractive woman in her late 30's opened the door. I turned and looked up at her over my red sunglasses and, like Zach wanted, popped my gum. Her eyes went wide in surprise and she caught her breath. Her eyes roamed over me, but the door didn't slam back shut. At least not yet.
My eyes probably went wide as well. She slowly smiled brightly at me with a sexy sparkle in her eye. And I just couldn't help but admire her form - she was a good 10 inches taller than me, with gorgeous eyes, long brown hair, and a finely-shaped and toned body covered only by a thin white fishnet sling bikini. What little material there she wore was far too small to cover her big, dark areolas, and her nipples were clearly visible under the fishnet.
I'd never told Zach that I was secretly attracted to women nearly as much as men; I had yielded to such temptations only once and besides, his stupid immaturity couldn't have handled it.
Without a word we stood there in the doorway, looking each other up and down for a good 20 seconds. I think we each creamed a bit. She had lovely olive skin, an hourglass form and wide baby-making hips. The fishnet gave a view a view down below as well and before I could catch myself my eyes went to her flat, smooth tummy and slick mound. I actually thought she might have tattoos high up on the insides of her thighs but I wasn't so gauche as to stare any longer. When my eyes went back up, that smile and that sparkle in her eye consumed me hypnotically; I was having feelings I had suppressed since being with Zach. This was definitely not who I had expected to answer the door.
Finally, she broke the spell for both of us. She stood back and opened the door wide. "Come in dear. You're Lisette, here for the interview, correct?"
"Yes ma'am."
"Well you're not exactly what I was expecting." My eyes drifted down to the floor.
She put two fingers under my chin and lifted my face until our eyes met. "But my, oh my. You are certainly far, far more than I could have ever hoped for." She bit her lip coyly and held out her hand. "I'm Tanya. Tanya Davis."
"Pleased to meet you. Lisette Cuman."
"I see". Given the circumstances, I think she considered for a moment whether someone had sent me to play some kind of trick on her. "Lisette...Cuman." She smiled and shrugged. "All right, Ms. Cuman, let's go talk. My husband had to leave and won't be back for a few days, but as president of our company I handle much of the most important business anyway. This role we need to fill is important indeed and requires someone who can provide a perfect fit."
She wrapped her fingers in mine and we walked slowly through the expansive house, our hips swaying in a natural unison. I felt at ease. "First, should you be the successful candidate, it would be a requirement for you to live here with us. You'd have your own private suite of course. But the person we're seeking would need to be", she paused, "...available...at all times. Of course one upside is that you would have few to no personal expenses. Would such an arrangement be a problem for you?" She looked at me with what I thought was a hopeful expression.
"No ma'am. Perfectly acceptable. Despite my inappropriate appearance I'm sure I could perform any duties you assign satisfactorily" She smiled and her thumb swirled against my palm. It somehow soothed and excited me. And she was so confident and frankly so sexy. We had just met a few minutes ago but I was secretly lusting for her despite all my better instincts.
"And do you know what the job entails?"
"Well, your ad said personal secretary, so I assumed you needed someone to help with business details."
Mrs. Davis stopped to turn and look at me. "Actually I think the job might be better described as 'personal aide'." I could almost hear the air quotes. "Exclusively, to me and to my husband, or to anyone we designate. Most of your main tasks would be assigned by me, and I would conduct most of your job training, at least in the beginning. Again I must warn that you would be quite busy and the hours would often be long and unpredictable. But the successful candidate will be very well compensated. And will receive deep job satisfaction."
Weird, but so far, so good. I began to feel a tiny bit of confidence of my own.
We walked into an office and Mrs. Davis sat on the couch rather than at the large desk. She motioned for me to have a seat facing her. I sat before her as conservatively as I could, given the state of my clothing (or lack thereof). I had to make sure I kept my legs together so my labia didn't spill out over the threadbare crotch of the daisy dukes, and my tits desperately wanted to pop out of the tight top. I took off my sunglasses and hoped I could impress enough that she could see past my slutty outfit. "I must apologize, ma'am, I really did not intend to come here dressed like this. There were extenuating circumstances and this certainly is NOT my normal..."
"Please, stop right there, Ms. Cuman. Please believe me when I say your clothing most certainly is -not- a problem. I can see past the distraction. Though I admit it's quite difficult", she said wryly as I blushed.
My interviewer crossed her legs, her hands on her knee, and I tried to be subtle about admiring the taught muscles of her thighs.
"And, she laughed, "It's not like I conduct interviews dressed like this. I thought that I still an hour and was out back by the pool stretched out on the daybed when the doorbell rang. When I saw you -- and your outfit -- on the security monitor I simply chose not to put on my robe before coming to the door!
"So I hope you aren't offended when I say you have a stunning figure, my dear. Absolutely stunning. Almost perfect in fact. Your face - perfect bone structure, so exquisitely chiseled. That tan. And your lips with that puffy little pout. I'm amazed you haven't written your own ticket as a runway model. You're one of the most beautiful women I've ever met in my life!"
I didn't know what to say, not expecting such overt flattery. My boyfriend certainly never talked that way to me. "You're too kind, Mrs. Davis. A modeling career just isn't something I've ever considered."
"Surely you meet loads of men at bars and clubs more than willing to tell you I just have while trying to pick you up."
"I'm a homebody actually. I don't care for clubs or pickup bars. I've only had two somewhat significant relationships so far in my life."
She was intrigued by my comment. "I see! That fact actually works highly in your favor for the sake of this interview. And tell me about you. You have such a wonderful English accent. Where are you from originally? Do you have family?"
"Uh, no. Just a boyfriend of sorts. I'm originally from a little place in Lincolnshire called Haddenham, northwest of London. I never knew my mother. She died when I was a baby and I lived with my aunt in Oxford. I came to the US to live with my grandmother when I was 17. Then she passed last year shortly after I finished college."
"I see." She tapped a pencil against her lips, assessing me. "No significant living relatives. I'm sure that's very difficult, Ms. Cuman." She considered me and continued.
"Tell me, what is it you want from life? Your career aspirations?"
I had to think for a moment. "I graduated with a marketing degree, but it's not something I'm really passionate about and so far haven't found a position I would be comfortable filling. Beyond that, I'm not really sure yet. I thought perhaps I'd try a few different things before locking into a career path, which is why I'm here. But I suppose what's most important is feeling like I belong to something bigger than me. To be an integral part of a close-knit team."
"And, if I might ask, what vision do you have for your personal life?"
A tough question, though somewhat inappropriate. "Again, to be part of a team. And, I guess, to explore what lifestyle I really want then dive into it head first with all my being."
"I'll suggest that what you want most is family. A family to be a part of who fulfills all of your needs, from the most routine to the most intimate. And, in turn, a family to serve faithfully in meeting their most intimate needs as well. " She wasn't being very coy. And she was processing every word I said and had me tagged instantly.
"Your boyfriend - is it serious? Would your relationship with him impact your job duties?"
"Well, we're not engaged or anything, if that's what you mean."
She went quiet again, chewing the pencil. She sat back, uncrossed her legs, and spread them apart. Her hands went to her knees. I just couldn't help it. My eyes went to her crotch. The fishnet material was pulled tight against her bare labia and she knew I enjoyed the sight. She waited, giving me ample time to consider the situation and to get up and leave in panic or disgust, but I was frozen in place in a strange combination of wonder and lust. She had set the hook.
"He makes you dress like that, doesn't he." It was a statement, not a question. "I'm not being judgmental, you understand."
I looked down. "You're being uncouth. I'm not sure this is a valid ques...."
